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Tke Rivals 

AND 

Otter Folklore Tales 


By 

EVA BEEDE ODELL 
Author of 

“Roxy's Good Angel” 

“Miss Prissy's Diamond Rings” 
“Winnipesaukee and Other Poems” 



The Meredith News Press 
Meredith, N. H. 
1924 


Copyright 1924 
By EVA BEEDE ODELL 
New York City 


TO 

THE MEMORY OF 
MY AUNT 
SARAH P. BEEDE 
THIS VOLUME 

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 





CONTENTS 


The Rivals 

The Album Quilt 

Spoken for in the Cradle 

The New Minister 

Daniel Scruton’s Economy 

The Hen Party 

Betty's Valentine 










THE RIVALS 


It was a sultry afternoon in August. Not 
a leaf stirred on the trees, and the bushes and 
grasses along the roadside were powdered 
with fine dust. Not a ripple marred the mir- 
ror-like surface of the beautiful sheet of wa¬ 
ter on the shore of which were clustered the 
neat white cottages, with their green blinds, 
making the little hamlet of Lakeside. 

The village was taking its afternoon nap. 
Nothing was heard save the drowsy hum of 
insects, when the stillness was broken by the 
sound of slowly moving wagon wheels, and 
Nahum Bennett's old white horse came 
around the corner and stopped at one of the 
stone posts in front of a store. Nahum got 
out stiffly and hitched the horse, then care¬ 
fully lifted from the wagon a basket of eggs, 
which he carried into the store; meanwhile 
Mrs. Bennett, unassisted, climbed over the 
wheel and followed her husband. 


10 


THE RIVALS 


“What be ye a-payin' fer aigs now,” ask¬ 
ed Nahum of the storekeeper, as he set his 
basket on the counter. 

“Fifteen cents,” was the reply. 

“Wall, you may count 'em out. The wom¬ 
an says there's six derzen on 'em.” 

This proving to be the correct count, the 
eggs were exchanged for tea and coffee, a 
quarter of a pound of pepper, a bar of soap 
and a ten-cent piece of “Good Smoke,” which 
Nahum put into his pocket, and turning to 
his wife, said, “You wait here, Elmiry, whilst 
I slip down ter the blacksmith shop, fer ole 
Whitey hes lost orf one o' her hind shoes.” 

Just then Reuben Morse and his wife drove 
up. Mrs. Morse got out and carried into the 
store something tied up in a large, red cot¬ 
ton handkerchief, while Reuben drove on up 
the hill to the grist-mill. 

“I've fetched ye in some more o' them sale 
foot'n's,” said Mrs. Morse to the storekeeper, 
as she placed her bundle on the counter and 
proceeded to untie it. “I want a couple o' 
yards o’ dark caliker fer an apern; then the 


THE RIVALS 


11 


rest that's cornin' ter me I'll take up in fac'- 
try cloth. I want a good stout piece." 

After the trading was done, the women 
turned their attention to the post-office which 
was at the front end of the store. They called 
for their own weekly papers and those for 
their neighbors along the road. Then they 
looked on the wheel. This was a tall, cylinder¬ 
like body, with the alphabet around the top, 
and strips of tin tacked down its paneled 
sides for holding the letters. The wheel was 
turned from the bottom by taking hold of 
the rim which projected through a slit in the 
frame of the glass behind which it stood. 
People who had only occasional letters looked 
for them here, and sometimes the curious 
amused themselves by reading the post¬ 
marks and guessing the writers' names. 
Those who received frequent letters had the 
numbered boxes behind the glass above the 
little door where the mail was handed out. 
The rent for these was ten cents a quarter. 
There were also lock boxes for those who 
were willing to pay twenty cents every three 


12 


THE RIVALS 


months. Such men as Colonel Wilkinson and 
Squire Jewett indulged in this expenditure. 
As the postmaster was a patriotic man the 
office was decorated in red, white and blue. 
All the trimmings were painted white, the 
upright portion of the wheel red and the rim 
blue. The fronts of the lock boxes were also 
blue with the numbers painted on them in 
red. Looking down the rows of letters on the 
wheel, Mrs. Bennett read, “Miss Ida May 
Peaslee.” “Land o’ Liberty!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Morse, “an" it’s from Lacony. That's where 
the young feller 't hired out with Joshuay 
Peaslee in hayin' time come from. Don't it 
beat all? I'll bet ye he's a-writin' ter Idy 
May, an’ she's got a beau. We'll take the let¬ 
ter-right along up to her.” 

After having exhausted all the resources 
of the post-office for passing away the time, 
these good farmers' wives found some chairs, 
and sat down by the open door to await the 
return of their respective lords. 

“Dretful hot an' muggy, ain't it?” said 
Mrs. Morse. 


THE RIVALS 


13 


“Yes,” replied Mrs. Bennett, “an" how the 
flies doos pester a body. Seems's if they'd eat 
ye up. Sign o’ rain, ain't it ?” 

“I b'iieve so. It's needed bad 'nough. They 
say wells is gittin’ awful low. Be you a-goin' 
down ter camp-meetin' this week, Mis' Ben¬ 
nett?'' 

“I sh'd like ter, 'f ennybody's a-goin'. I 
hain't be'n fer four year.” 

“They tell me that Thursday is the best 
day,” continued Mrs. Morse. “The Bishop 
preaches in the mornin', an' a missionary 
from some forrin parts, Indy or Chiny, in the 
arternoon. Be you dretful driv? Can't you 
git orf ?” 

“We hain't got quite done hayin' yit, an' 
we've got work folks a-comin' termorrer an' 
next day, shore, an' mebby all the week, but 
then, I thinks like Abby c'n manage ter git 
the vittles on ter the table 'f I leave 'em all 
cooked up.” 

“Course she can. Now I'll fry a fresh batch 
o’ nut cakes, an' we've got some skim-milk 
cheese that will taste dretful good with 'em, 


14 


THE RIVALS 


fer our lunch. ” 

“An’ I'll bake some seed cakes, an’ butter 
a few slices of riz bread, an’ take a tea-pot 
with a drawin’ o’ tea in my satchel. We c’n 
git hot water in ter one o’ the houses. ” 

“So we can,” said Mrs. Morse, “I know a 
woman that comes to the ‘Sandidge’ house 
every year, she’s real ’commerdatin,’ an’ 
she’ll let us steep our tea on her stove. We 
sh’d feel better ter hev some warm drink. My 
man’s so handy ’bout shiftin’ fer hisself that 
I don’t mind leavin’ on him. He likes cracker 
an’ milk. If it’s a fair day I don’t see nothin’ 
ter hender our hevin’ a fust rate good time. 
There’s Reuben now, cornin’ down the hill 
with the grist!” 

Soon old Whitey came trotting up the road 
from the blacksmith’s shop, and in a few 
minutes the two women were jogging to¬ 
wards their homes, with their heads full of 
the plans they had been making for their 
day’s outing. 

The next Thursday morning Mrs. Nahum 
Bennett and Mrs. Reuben Morse were at the 


THE RIVALS 


15 


railroad station a half hour before the train 
was due. 

Mrs. Morse, who was a stout woman, wore 
a bright-colored plaid dress, a striped shawl, 
and a large, black straw bonnet. Mrs. Bennett 
was rather tall and quite slender. She wore 
a bright green dress, which had been her best 
gown for several years, and a long, black silk 
sack. Around her neck was an embroidered, 
white muslin handkerchief, crossed under her 
chin and fastened with a large, gold bosom 
pin. Her hat was black, trimmed with red 
flowers. 

The meeting was in the grove. The grand 
old trees, with birds twittering in their 
branches, formed a green canopy over the 
heads of the people, and behind the speak¬ 
er's stand glistened the waters of the beauti¬ 
ful lake. ‘‘Full house ain't it?" whispered 
Mrs. Morse to Mrs. Bennett, as they passed 
down the aisle between the crowded benches. 
Both women agreed that the Bishop's dis¬ 
course went “a leetle ahead" of anything 
they had ever heard before, and that the mis- 


16 


THE RIVALS 


sionary woman “spoke jest beautiful.” The 
“Sandidge” woman was there and kindly as¬ 
sisted them in making their tea. So nothing 
seemed lacking for the perfect enjoyment of 
the day. There had been a slight shower the 
night before, however, and Mrs. Bennett felt 
that she had taken a little cold, sitting with 
her feet on the damp ground. 

As the days went on the cold became more 
troublesome. All the home remedies were 
tried and everything recommended by the 
neighbors. Still no relief came. Then one day 
old Doctor Penniman was sent for and he 
drove up in his chaise with his little trunk 
full of medicines. He made frequent visits, 
but his patient did not improve, and in a 
short time “took her bed. ” Then Lizy Ann 
Goodhue, “who went out nussin\ ” came to 
take care of her, but she was not needed long 
for Mrs. Bennett soon passed away. 

Nahum Bennett had a son and a daughter. 
The son, Phillip, was nineteen years old, but 
the daughter, Abby, was only twelve, so Na¬ 
hum was obliged to look about for a house- 


THE RIVALS 


17 


keeper. Hittie Dinsmore, a maiden of some 
forty years, living in a neighboring town, was 
recommended, and he secured her services. 
Hittie was a very plain and unattractive 
woman, but she was a good cook, and had a 
smart, business-like way, and before long she 
became an indispensable part of the Bennett 
household. Nahum felt that he should be 
very loth to have Hittie go away, but it cost 
considerable to hire a maid, so he thought 
he might as well marry her, thinking that 
Hittie, of course, could have no objections, 
for she would be getting a good home. Then, 
too, the children seemed to think so much of 
her. 

So Nahum used to sit in the kitchen Sun¬ 
day nights talking to Hittie, thinking that he 
was courting her, until he got sleepy, and 
went off to bed. Then Phillip, having built a 
fire in the front room, would invite Hittie in 
there, and they would sit up and talk until 
long after the old father had gone to sleep. 

Finally the old man made up his mind to 
speak out, so one stormy Sunday night, when 


18 


THE RIVALS 


they had drawn near the kitchen fire, cosily 
eating apples and pop corn, “Hittie,” said he, 
“ain’t I a good pervider?” 

“Yes, you be,” replied Hittie. 

“Wall, don’t you think you’d like ter stay 
here right along?” 

“Sure I would,” was the reply. 

“Then, Hittie, we’ll be married pretty soon. 
I s’pose we’d orter wait a spell though, fer 
the speech o’ people, till pore Elmiry’s be’n 
dead a leetle while longer.” 

“But, Nahum, I can’t marry you,” said Hit- 
tie. 

“I sh’d like ter know why not.” 

“Cause I’ve promised ter marry somebody 
else, an’ the day is sot.” 

“Goin’ ter marry somebody else ? Who un¬ 
der the heavens is it ?” 

“It’s Phillup.” 

“Phillup? Thunderation! That is a little 
the meanest thing I ever heerd on yit. A man 
cut out by his own boy, like that!” 


THE ALBUM QUILT 


The Benson farm was next to the last one 
on the road which lost itself at the foot of 
the mountain. One fine spring morning in 
the early fifties, Susan, the ten-year-old 
daughter of the house, heard a wagon cross 
the dooryard, and then a very energetic, 
“Whoa!” Exclaiming, “Oh! somebody’s 
come,” she skipped to the door, followed by 
her mother and Aunt Phoebe. 

“Of all things, Mis’ Pettingill,” said Mrs. 
Benson, “who’d ever ’ave thought o’ seeing 
you this time o’ day ? Hitch up to the corn- 
barn post there an’ come right in. ” 

“Good land! This’s oP Kate. She’ll stan’. 
She druther stan’ than go any time,” was the 
response. “I sh’ll hev ter tell ye my errant 
spry an’ be a-movin’ on, fer I’m a-layin’ out 
ter go all round in the neighborhood this 
forenoon. Dretful warm spell fer the time 
o’ year, ain’t it ? I’m heftier ’n I uster be an’ 


20 


THE ALBUM QUILT 


it takes holt on me.” 

“Susan, you run up chamber an' fetch 
down one o’ Aunt Phoebe's gray goose fans,” 
said Mrs. Benson, as Mrs. Pettingill settled 
herself in the big rocking chair. Then, as the 
good lady slowly fanned herself, she unfolded 
her plan. 

“Wall, you know there hain't be'n much 
talked on lately 'cept Beniah Wood's goin' out 
as a forrin missionary, an' what a gre't honor 
'tis to our church. I do pity his pore mother, 
though. I shouldn't s'pose she'd 'spect ter 
ever set eyes on him ag'in in this world, but 
he got so chock full o' religion off t' the 'cade- 
my that he felt it his duty ter go ter Indy an' 
convert the heathen. Course you know'd 
that he was a-going ter marry Elder Eth¬ 
ridge's darter, down't the Lower Village. 
There was three gals gin out word that they 
was willin' ter go, but he went ter see Philin- 
dy Ethridge fust, an' was so well pleased 
with her that he didn't look no f urder. Folks 
say they may be two months on the v'yage, 
an' like 'nough seasick most o' the time. I've 


THE ALBUM QUILT 


21 


heern tell 'twas a dretful squamish feelin\ 
Liddy Ann Judkins says she hopes ter mercy 
the natives won't make 'em into a stew fust 
thing when they land. He's so kind of spare 
like, mebby he won't be so temptin', but she's 
purty plump. Now what I come up here for 
is to tell ye about the album quilt that we 
wimmin wants ter git up for 'em. Each one 
is to make a square out o' some pieces o' her 
calico gownds, dark an' light, with a block 
o' white in the center to write her name on in 
indelible ink. I sh'll put on mine ‘Mr. and 
Mrs. Ezra Pettingill.' I've fetched ye the 
partern," said she, diving into the depths of 
her carpet bag. “It'll be sot together with a 
sash. His mother an' Aunt Dolly an' the 
gals is a-going ter do that, then everybody 
that's pieced up a square's ter be invited ter 
the quiltin'." 

One beautiful afternoon, a few weeks later, 
when the short grass, like a dainty green car¬ 
pet, spread over the broad fields, and the 
trees had just come out in the delicate shades 
of spring, the good women met at the old 


22 


THE ALBUM QUILT 


homestead, at the end of the mountain road, 
which had sheltered the Wood family for 
three generations, to quilt Beniah’s album 
quilt. The west room was opened for the oc¬ 
casion . The heavy green paper curtains, be¬ 
hind the dainty white muslin ones, had been 
rolled up, letting the sunshine in. It shone 
on the pretty spindle-legged table and ma¬ 
hogany bureau. It lighted up the gilt-framed 
looking-glass and brought out the beautiful 
shades in the peacock feathers around it. 
Even the face of the woman, in mourning 
garb, leaning against the family monument 
under the weeping willow tree, in the dark 
frame above the fireplace, brightened in the 
sunlight. It rested on the plaster of Paris 
cat and dog watching each other from oppo¬ 
site ends of the mantlepiece, glinted the tall 
brass candlesticks and the snuffers in the 
painted tray, and gleamed from the great 
polished balls on the andirons standing on 
the hearth below. 

Here in readiness was the quilt. Busy fin¬ 
gers, with darning needles and strong wrap- 


THE ALBUM QUILT 


23 


ping yarn, had sewed the lining into the quilt¬ 
ing frames, had laid on the thin sheets of 
batting, and then had basted on the patch- 
work. The corners, where the frames cross¬ 
ed, were held in place by gimlets and put be¬ 
tween the slats in the backs of four kitchen 
chairs. 

The only child in the company was Susan. 
“She c’n quilt as good's any on us,” said Aunt 
Ezra. Then, as Mrs. Benson did not enjoy 
the best of health, Susan went everywhere 
with Aunt Phoebe. Together they roamed 
the woods and pastures, breaking off great 
bunches of hemlock for brooms, digging 
roots to put into beer for the haymakers, 
picking the wild berries and gathering herbs 
for tea to cure all ailments. The one excep¬ 
tion was when Aunt Phoebe was called upon 
to sit up nights with sick neighbors; there 
she watched alone. 

Susan wore her hair in braids, crossed at 
the back of her neck. Her calico dress had a 
brownish stripe and one of rosebuds on a 
background of light blue. It was cut with a 


24 


THE ALBUM QUILT 


low yoke, long sleeves, a short waist and 
scant skirt, reaching nearly to her calf-skin 
shoes, which were made by the traveling 
shoemaker, who during the winter months 
went from house to house. Each woman had 
on a new calico dress and a long white apron 
and the older ones wore white lace caps. 

By half-past one all were in their places 
around the quilting-frames. The skeins of 
thread were cut in two lengths and braided in 
the middle to avoid snarling when needlefuls 
were drawn from the hanks. Little Susan 
kept up with the older quilters and followed 
the long chalk lines with straight rows of 
daintily set stitches. When each one had 
quilted as far as she could reach, then they 
were ready to roll up. The gimlets were un¬ 
screwed and the quilt was rolled over the 
frames as far as it was finished. New lines 
were chalked as the women seated them¬ 
selves to the work again. After the second 
roll-up, it was not long before the quilt was 
ready to be ripped from the frames. 

During the visiting time which followed, 


THE ALBUM QUILT 


25 


some took out their snuffboxes and exchang¬ 
ed friendly pinches with their neighbors, but 
soon the hostess appeared in the doorway, 
saying, “Now, all walk right out ter supper.” 
A beautiful pink tea-set graced the table, 
with little glass cup plates in which to stand 
the cups when not in use, for the custom was 
to pour the tea into the “sassers” to cool and 
drink it from them. Cold meat with warm 
biscuit, fresh butter, tansy cheese, and hot 
maple syrup, plum cake and caraway cookies 
to eat with the cup custard which stood by 
each plate, made a bountiful repast. 

The women went home early to get supper 
for the hungry men folks who were doing the 
spring plowing, but the good time they had 
over Beniah’s album quilt they never forgot. 
Across the ocean it went to a foreign land, 
and for many a year comforted the hearts of 
the missionary and his wife, as again and 
again they read the names of the dear home 
friends so far away. 








SPOKEN FOR IN THE CRADLE 


Martin Brooks had been working at the 
tailor's shop in a prosperous New England 
village for a little more than two years. He 
was a quiet young man of good habits and his 
diligence and marked ability had won for him 
the confidence and esteem of his employer. 
About this time he received letters from rela¬ 
tives in California holding out inducements 
so tempting that he finally decided to go to 
seek his fortune in San Francisco. 

He had made many friends in the town and 
felt sorry to leave them all, especially the 
family of his employer, for he had become 
very much interested in the youngest child, 
a baby only a few months old. She was un¬ 
usually pretty and attractive and showed a 
decided fondness for him. 

On the morning of his departure, looking 
into the cradle where the baby girl lay asleep, 
he said, ‘‘That is my future wife. She will be 


28 


SPOKEN FOR IN THE CRADLE 


an inspiration to me in all my work and I 
shall come back for her when she is grown 
up.” 

“All right, Martin,” replied the father. 
“She couldn't find a better man and we will 
wish you the greatest success in your new 
venture.” 

As time went on and the young man pros¬ 
pered he frequently wrote to his friend, San¬ 
ford, the tailor, who kept him informed how 
the little girl was growing, how bright she 
was and what winning ways she had. Now 
and then the father sent a picture of the child 
and she was often made happy by receiving 
presents of toys and picture books from far 
away California. 

The village school-house was divided into 
two large rooms known as the “big part” and 
the “little part. ” They were much alike, ex¬ 
cept that the seats were higher in the room 
for the older scholars. In the middle of one 
side, on a raised platform, was the teacher's 
desk, and back of that the blackboard, on 
which words and sentences were often put 


SPOKEN FOR IN THE CRADLE 


29 


for the children to copy on their slates. 
These little slates had wooden frames and at¬ 
tached by a string to a hole in one end of the 
frame hung a slate pencil and a sponge. 

In front of the teacher's desk were the 
seats where the children sat when called out 
to read or recite. Back of these were double 
seats in rows with a desk for each two schol¬ 
ars . Near the door stood a great box stove. 

After having learned her letters from the 
blocks with which she played at home and be¬ 
ing able to spell some short words, little 
curly-haired, black-eyed Grace Sanford found 
her way with other children one summer day 
to the village school. She was a very well- 
behaved child and never had to stand in the 
floor for whispering, chewing gum or eating 
Johnny birch, as some others did. She was 
proud to take home each night a ticket signi¬ 
fying that she had known her lessons and 
been perfect in conduct, and when she was a 
little older she was most often the one to 
wear home, suspended from her neck by a 
narrow blue ribbon, the pierced half dollar, 


30 


SPOKEN FOR IN THE CRADLE 


an honor bestowed for leaving off at the head 
of the spelling class. The scholar wearing 
this silver piece the greatest number of 
times won it at the end of the term. 

At recess the boys played “I spy,” ball or 
marbles and walked around on stilts. When 
the girls’ turn came they jumped the rope, 
rolled their hoops and played “Blindman’s 
Buff”, or “Drop the Handkerchief” until the 
teacher’s bell called them in all too soon. 

On the front seat stood the water pail. 
Some boy was sent across the road to Eli 
Huntley’s well from which he always brought 
back a pailful of pure cold water. The little 
girls then took turns in passing it among the 
scholars in a long-handled dipper. 

On the “Last Day” the school-house was 
prettily decorated with oak leaves plaited in 
long strips which were looped around the 
walls of the room and across the windows 
and also made a frame for the blackboard. 
Bouquets were placed on the teacher’s desk, 
and the flat top of the stove was covered with 
ferns and wild flow T ers. The children all wore 


SPOKEN FOR IN THE CRADLE 


31 


their Sunday clothes, spoke pieces and receiv¬ 
ed “Rewards of Merit. ” 

The scholars in the “little part” were al¬ 
ways very much attached to their teacher, 
and when the cruel “Committee-man” an¬ 
nounced the names of those promoted to the 
higher part for the next term there was 
weeping and much lamentation, especially 
among the little girls. Grace Sanford was 
sent into the “big part” when she was only 
eight because she could read in the Fourth 
Reader. 

For the opening exercises, each day, the 
scholars read in turn a verse from the New 
Testament. They usually began a term with 
Matthew, the second chapter, thereby avoid¬ 
ing the names so difficult to pronounce in the 
first chapter. After the reading they re¬ 
peated the Lord's Prayer together, and then 
the teacher called the roll. 

In this room the boys built the fires. Two 
of them at a time, as their turns came on the 
fire list, started from their homes early and 
had the place comfortably warm when school 


32 


SPOKEN FOR IN THE CRADLE 


opened. There was also a sweeping list for 
the girls and two, in turn, remained after all 
the lessons were over to sweep out the school 
house. 

Here it was the custom to have a young 
man for the teacher, but one year the school 
was taught by Miss Sophia Durgin. She in¬ 
troduced the wonderful “Outline Maps,” and 
Grace Sanford would take the pointer and 
place it on the dot indicating any lake, river, 
mountain or city that the teacher could men¬ 
tion. There was also a list of “History Ques¬ 
tions” which the scholars copied in note 
books and then learned. They began with 
“The Seven Wonders of the World” and from 
“The Egyptian Pyramids” down Grace could 
give.the great achievements of the ages. 

One of the men teachers was a great dis¬ 
ciplinarian. He would take a boy right out 
over the top of the desks into the floor and 
give him a shaking that he would never for¬ 
get . He had a ferrule which he often used to 
the dismay of offenders. Sometimes he 
would say, “We will stop right here and fight 


SPOKEN FOR IN THE CRADLE 


33 


until we have order. ” 

On moonlight winter evenings the boys 
and girls went sliding down the hills in the 
village streets. When the crust would bear 
they often went coasting on long sleds in the 
fields. Then there was the fun on the Bay. 
As soon as the ice was in good condition, the 
boys would gallantly strap on the skates for 
the girls and cross-handed glide with them 
over many a mile of glassy surface. Some¬ 
times the boys would go ashore after broken 
branches of trees and sticks of cord-wood 
left by choppers. These they brought to¬ 
gether and started a cheerful fire, about 
which all gathered from far and near, laugh¬ 
ing and having a jolly time. 

Then there were parties around at the 
houses where the boys and girls lived. Here 
they played “Hide the Thimble,” “Stage 
Coach,” and “Post-Office,” and the refresh¬ 
ments were apples, corn balls and molasses 
candy. There was always great excitement 
at the end, when each boy, who was brave 
enough, asked the girl he liked best if he 


34 


SPOKEN FOR IN THE CRADLE 


could “see her home. ” 

Among the summer festivities the celebra¬ 
tion of the Fourth of July held a prominent 
place. The ceremonies began the night be¬ 
fore. Gates opening into the grounds of 
stately old houses found themselves in very 
strange places. The signs on the stores read 
upside down. Wagons, carts and wheelbar¬ 
rows were perched on the ridgepoles of sheds 
and, beginning long before light, the boys 
took turns in keeping the church bell ringing. 
Early in the morning everybody was out to 
see the procession of the “Horribles. ” These 
were men and boys wearing false faces. 
Some were in female attire and all were 
dressed in most comical and hideous garbs. 
Later on the school children, arrayed in their 
Sunday best, marched behind the brass band 
to the picnic in Bassett's Grove. Snapcrack- 
ers and torpedoes were going off all day and 
in the evening everybody went to see the 
fireworks. 

Another attraction was the Circus with its 
street-parade of gaily caparisoned horses and 


SPOKEN FOR IN THE CRADLE 


35 


picturesque riders, its clumsy elephants and 
vans of strange animals and its bands of 
brightly uniformed musicians. In the great 
tent there gathered crowds of old and young 
to witness daring athletic feats and hear the 
funny jokes of grotesquely dressed clowns 
while numerous side shows drew many to 
look with amazement on living skeletons, fat 
women and bold snake-charmers. 

From the different churches there were 
Sunday School excursions on the lake with 
picnic dinners carried in large lunch baskets. 
Occasionally there was a moonlight excursion 
when music from the band floated over the 
water, and lemonade, candy and peanuts were 
for sale. 

One day a man created considerable excite¬ 
ment by riding around the town in a horse¬ 
less carriage. When Uncle Sim Varney saw 
it he made this prophecy, to the on-lookers: 
“You mark my words now, the time'll come 
when some gol darn lunkhead'll git up a con- 
trapsion that he c'n fly in clean down ter 
Concord.'' 


36 


SPOKEN FOR IN THE CRADLE 


Amid these surroundings Grace Sanford 
grew up to be a fine-looking young lady. The 
gentleman in California had now and then 
addressed friendly letters to her, but as time 
went on these missives became more fre¬ 
quent . 

Since the girl was so pretty and vivacious 
she had many admirers but none of them re¬ 
ceived much encouragement. She somehow 
liked best the distant friend who wrote her 
such nice letters and sent her dainty gifts. 
Then the novelty of the affair pleased her, so 
when Martin Brooks asked her to come and 
live with him in the land of flowers she was 
very willing to go. 

She had several pictures of her lover which 
showed just how he looked and she felt very 
well acquainted with him through their cor¬ 
respondence and, besides, she had been told 
the story of how he had spoken for her in 
the cradle. The romance of it all appealed 
to her and she decided that Martin was the 
only man in the world for her. 

Although Mr. Brooks had prospered in 


SPOKEN FOR IN THE CRADLE 


37 


business beyond his expectations, the ex¬ 
pense of a trip across the continent, at that 
time, was quite an item, so he wrote asking 
if he should come to New England for her, 
or would she prefer to go on to California 
alone, be married out there and be given the 
money that he would have to spend on the 
trip east. He would meet her on her arrival. 
The young lady promptly decided to take the 
money offer. 

Some of the neighbors shook their heads 
ominously at the adventure, especially Aunt 
Deborah Scriggins, who had an unmarried 
daughter, Jerushy, a tall, angular person of 
forty-seven. 

“Of all things!” exclaimed Aunt Deborah 
when she heard the news. “I sh'd think her 
folks wuz crazy ter let her go a-traipsin' orf 
arter a man that she hedn't never sot eyes on 
sense she wuz in her cradle. How's she ever 
a-goin' ter know him from Adam ? I shouldn't 
think she'd dast ter do it. You wouldn't nev¬ 
er ketch my Jerushy in no sich scrape as 
that.'' 


38 


SPOKEN FOR IN THE CRADLE 


In spite of all disparaging remarks, how¬ 
ever, our heroine set forth on her long jour¬ 
ney. A short time after she left Sacramen¬ 
to a gentleman walked through the train 
with a photograph in his hand and stopping 
by the seat where she sat, said, “Is this Miss 
Sanford ?” “Yes/’ she replied, “and you are 
Mr. Brooks.” 

A beautiful home awaited the happy couple 
in San Francisco, where Mr. Brooks was 
a successful business man. The young wife 
readily settled into her new surroundings, 
and the marriage proved to be a very happy 
one. 

Children came to bless the home with their 
cheery presence and many and joyous were 
the years which the wife, spoken for in the 
cradle, spent with her faithful husband in 
distant California. 


THE NEW MINISTER 


Elder Jonathan Edwards Watson was dead. 
For forty-three years he had been pastor of 
the Orthodox Church, or the North Meeting 
house, as it was sometimes called, at Bates- 
ville. This had been his first and only pas¬ 
torate. Here he had come, a young man of 
twenty-five, just out of the Theological Sem¬ 
inary, bringing his young bride. 

Bright and happy were those first years 
in the old parsonage, and two children, Emily 
and Henry, played beneath the elms on the 
long summer days. Emily was now a prim 
maiden of forty-one. She had always lived 
at home, except the four years of her girl¬ 
hood, still cherished in her memory, that she 
had spent at Bradford Academy. 

Henry was two years younger than Emily. 
He had graduated at Harvard, and, to the 
great disappointment of his father, who had 
hoped that he would enter the ministry, had 


40 


THE NEW MINISTER 


chosen the law. He was now married and 
settled in a flourishing city in the West. 

Elder Watson's wife had died fifteen years 
ago, and since that time Emily had been 
president of the Missionary Society and the 
Sewing Circle, and had always taught a class 
in the Sunday School, besides being her 
father's faithful housekeeper. “As neat as 
Emily Watson,” was a household proverb. 
Inverted cornucopias of brown paper pro¬ 
tected the shining lamp chimneys from a pos¬ 
sible particle of dust that might be floating 
in the air. The last fly was driven into a 
corner, and there crushed by a blow of the 
fly-spanker. The very spiders had long ago 
given up trying to weave their webs about 
the parsonage premises, and now Emily, who 
had had things her own way for so long, 
must go to live in her brother's family where 
they kept servants and where there were 
four children. 

Elder Watson had died, as his heart's de¬ 
sire and prayer had been, “in the harness.” 
He had a “shock” on the left side, one Sun- 


THE NEW MINISTER 


41 


day after preaching, and before the next 
Sabbath he was laid beside his wife in the 
village burying-ground. 

Aunt Sairy Titcomb, the town oracle and 
gossip, said, “We sha'n't never see his like 
ag'in. He's sprinkled all the infants born in¬ 
ter our parish for over forty year, taken 'em 
inter the church in due time, married 
'em an' buried 'em. He was like a father to 
us all. Them Methodists over ter t'other 
meetin'-house, they've had jest fifteen min¬ 
isters in sixteen years. I've kep' account on 
'em. Thank the Lord, we ain't so onstable 
in all our ways." 

But the old pastor was gone, and some¬ 
thing must be done. “ 'T wouldn't do," as Hul- 
dy Lapham said, “to shet up the Orthodox 
House an' let the young folks git inter the 
notion o' goin' ter t'other meetin'." So they 
began to candidate. 

The first person to seek the position was 
the Rev. J. Wm. Strong, a man of thirty-five 
years, strong by name, strong in body and in 
doctrine, too. There was no fault to find 


42 


THE NEW MINISTER 


with him in the pulpit, except that some sis¬ 
ters of the meeker sort thought that he 
“pounded the Bible a leetle too hard, the 
same old Bible that Elder Watson had be’n 
so keerful on fer more than forty year.” 
Then, besides, there were six small Strongs. 

Now Squire Bates’ folks lived opposite the 
parsonage, and the Squire paid more than 
anyone else toward the preaching—a dollar a 
Sunday. Aunt Sairy Titcomb said, “ ’Taint 
nothin’ more’n right that he sh’d hev a voice 
in the matter, an’ he told me that his woman 
said it had be’n so quiet over acrost the road 
fer so long that she couldn’t bear the idee o’ 
hevin’ a fam’ly with young uns a-movin’ in.” 
So the Rev. J. Wm. Strong did not receive a 
call.' 

Then there was the Rev. Silas Perkins, 
aged fifty. His children were grown up and 
married off, out of the way, but he was cross¬ 
eyed. Huldy Lapham said, “As fer settin’ 
an’ list’nin’ to a cross-eyed man I can’t do it. 
I sh’d ’ave married Job Glidden afore now if 
he only hedn’t be’n so cross-eyed. I couldn’t 


THE NEW MINISTER 


43 


never tell whether he was lookin' at me or 
some other gal. ” Mis' Baxter told Job what 
Huldy said; then she told Sairy Titcomb and 
Sairy told Mis’ Deacon Hunkins that it mad¬ 
ded Job jest awful, and he said, “I sh'd never 
married Huldy Lapham if she'd be'n the only 
woman on airth.'' 

The next candidate was the Rev. Cyrus L. 
Rogers, a young man, fresh from the Semi¬ 
nary like Elder Watson, but unlike him he 
had no better half. 

Folks said, “Emily was a good gal, an' 
done the best she could, but we kind o' want 
a minister's wife, we’ve be'n 'thout one fer 
so long." The report went round that a 
beautiful young lady was only waiting for 
the Rev. Cyrus to get settled somewhere. 
Then it was contradicted. Aunt Sairy told 
round that she'd heerd “'t she gin him the 
mitten, an' was a-goin' ter marry a rich wid¬ 
ower out in New York City," but Huldy said, 
“You made that story up out o' hull cloth, 
Sairy Titcomb, you know you did." And the 
minister kept his own counsel. 


44 


THE NEW MINISTER 


Deacon Brown thought it would “be a bad 
plan to have an unmarried man for a minis¬ 
ter,” thought it would “set the young folks 
all by the ears,” but Deacon Nelson favored 
it, and nobody else had any serious objec¬ 
tions; even Huldy only “wished to goodness 
he’d take off that great ring and watch chain, 
an’ part his hair like men folks.” So Deacon 
Nelson’s family moved into the parsonage, 
and boarded the minister. 

He was a very social young man, and quite 
friendly with everybody, so the old maids and 
widows were all “a-settin’ of their caps fer 
him,” Aunt Sairy said. 

Janet Jackson played the organ, so it was 
necessary for the minister to call there often 
to tell her about the hymns, and as they both 
were singers, they often tried new tunes to¬ 
gether. 

Huldy lived opposite, and said she had 
known “o’ his bein’ there three hours t’ a 
time, forenune or arternune, it didn’t make 
no difference, but land! her ma al’ays said 
Janet wa’n’t good fer nothin’ ’bout the house, 


THE NEW MINISTER 


45 


wa'n’t wuth a tow string fer nothin' 'cept 
music. ” The mother Jackson, however, took 
some of her finest yarn and knit the minister 
“the harnsumest pair o' foot'n's t' was ever 
seen in that townd,” for his Christmas pres¬ 
ent. 

Charlotte Hussey's great uncle, Darius Mud- 
gett, had his last sickness that winter, and, 
as he was a member of the Orthodox church, 
the minister used to drive out there with 
Charlotte about once a week to visit the old 
gentleman. She “found team," to be sure. 
Mis' Jackson told Janet that “she felt's if she 
sh'd fly every time she see 'em drive orf, fer 
she'd bate he'd got wind on't, that Uncle Da¬ 
rius had willed the heft o' his property ter 
Charlotte." 

Then there was the little black-eyed school 
teacher that boarded “up beyend" the par¬ 
sonage. The minister was known to walk 
home with her from prayer meeting. Nancy 
Berry said, “one dark, rainy night, I run 
into 'em an' punched the nozzle o' my 
umbrell right into the minister's back afore 


46 


THE NEW MINISTER 


I see ’em. They didn’t seem ter sense the 
storm, but was a-movin’ along ’s slow an’ 
calm’s if ’twas a moonlight night in June.” 

Mr. Rogers had been pastor of the Ortho¬ 
dox church in Batesville for about a year, 
when one Sabbath morning the congregation 
was greatly surprised to see a stranger in the 
desk. At noontime the Nelsons were plied 
with questions for “folks was all up in arms, 
for fear that the minister had gone orf a - 
candidatin’, ” as Huldy said. 

Deacon Nelson assured the excited crowd 
that he “know’d that Rogers hadn’t no idee o’ 
goin’ away, he jest wanted ter take a week 
orf, he’d be there nex’ Sabbaday, all right. ” 
And the next Sabbath day, sure enough, he 
was there, with a handsome young bride. 

“He’ll git his comeuppance fer this,” said 
Mis’ Jackson. “Janet shan’t never play that 
organ ag’in whilst he preaches to Batesville.” 
As it happened the organist at the other 
church was sick so they were very glad of 
Janet’s services. 

Charlotte Hussey was intending to unite 


THE NEW MINISTER 


47 


with the church at the next communion, but 
she suddenly decided that the Methodist 
creed harmonized with her views better than 
the Orthodox, and the whole family went 
over to the Methodists. 

The little teacher took the school in the 
next town. “They pay more there,” was the 
reason she gave for making the change. 
Folks surmised, however, that Batesville had 
lost its attraction for her. 

The congregation was growing thinner, 
subscriptions were falling off and the young 
people no longer came out to prayer meeting, 
so the Rev. Cyrus Rogers became discour¬ 
aged. In just three months from the time 
the young minister brought home his bride, 
he tendered his resignation, and the church 
voted unanimously to accept it. 

Folks thought the Nelsons had “known 
what was a-going on all the time, but dassent 
say a word. ” When the Society meeting was 
held, Deacon Brown stood up, cleared his 
throat and said, “If we hev another minister, 
I dew hope he’ll be a married man.” Then 


48 


THE NEW MINISTER 


there was such a chorus of amens, that Aunt 
Sairy, speaking of it the next day, said, 
“You'd 'a' thought, be sure, we was Metho¬ 
dists, the hull on us. ” 


DANIEL SCKUTON’S ECONOMY 

It was a beautiful spring morning, full of 
sunshine, with bird songs in the air. Here 
and there a yellow dandelion gleamed like a 
star in the new grass by the roadside and in 
the brooklet, winding along near the edge of 
the woods, bunches of cowslips lifted their 
golden heads toward the network of tender 
green woven by the little new leaves above 
them. 

Hiram Flanders, jogging along in his old 
wagon, unmindful of the loveliness about 
him, was planning what he should get in ex¬ 
change for the smoked ham and firkin of but¬ 
ter which he was taking down to Baxter’s 
store. Suddenly a sharp “Whoa!” brought 
Bill, the old horse, to a standstill. Trudging 
along by the side of the road was Amos 
Moulton with an empty grain sack slung 
ever his shoulder. 

“Hullo! jump right in here,” said Hiram. 


/ 


50 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


“Guess you’re headed fer the same place I 
be, but what’s happened that you’re a-footin’ 
it, this way ?” 

“Oh, Prince is lame in one of his hind legs. 
He strained it a-plowin’ the garden t’other 
day. I’d orter let the oxen done it. All out 
o’ supplies o’ course ’cause the horse has gin 
out. I was jest a-goin’ down to the store for 
to lay in a stock an’ git my paper. Can’t 
keep house ’thout our Manchester Mirror. 
I’m in luck to git a lift. Wall, spring has 
come at last. Seems good, don’t it ?” 

“It does an’ no mistake,” said Hiram. 
Then he asked, “Had you heard that Aunt 
Serena Skinner over to the Corner hed got 
through?” 

“No,” was the response. “I didn’t know 
but she was as well as common. What was 
it carried her orf?” 

“She hed a shock an’ never spoke after. 
Aunt Calline Tewksbury was over to our 
house t’other day a-tellin’ my woman about 
it. She was considerable worked up over it 
’cause the Skinnerses never sent her no word 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


51 


an' her step-father was second cousin to 
Aunt Serena's fust husband. She said she 
told Ebenezer that mebby they'd hev a fun'- 
ral to their house some day and then they'd 
see who was invited." 

As they drove on they passed Daniel Scru- 
ton's place. “Tidy set o' buildin's aint it?" 
remarked Hiram. 

“Yes, an' what he's got he's made it all 
himself. He never hed a red cent left to 
him," said Amos. “There's nothin' nippin' 
about him. When a neighbor has sickness 
or hard luck he's the fust one to take holt 
an' help, though they are both awful savin' 
an' nothin' is ever wasted in that house. 
They say Mis' Scruton turns her dresses an' 
makes them over an' turns his coats an' vests 
an' foots down all the ole stockin' legs; then 
anythin' that's too good ter go inter the rag 
bag she works up inter braided mats and 
drawed-in rugs. Bein' so thrifty himself an' 
marryin' a woman of the same sort he's got 
ter be consider'ble forehanded. Folks says 
Dan'el has got more money put out t' int'rist 


52 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


than any man in this school deestrict.” 

“Here we be to the store,” said Hiram. 
I'll hitch to this fust stone post. We'll do 
our tradin'; then I’ll carry ye right back with 
me.” 

They found Baxter and his two clerks 
jumping to take care of a store full of cus¬ 
tomers who were chatting in groups, as they 
awaited their turns. Just then in walked old 
Uncle Joel Severance with a basket of eggs 
and asked one of the clerks, “What's aigs 
a-fetchin' of, now ?” 

“Fifteen cents a dozen,” was the reply. 

“They're a-payin' sixteen up to Simpkin¬ 
ses'.” 

“That's the place to sell them then. ” 

“But he says he's got all he c'n handle now. 
What's meal a-sellin' fer today?” 

“A dollar five,” said the clerk. 

“Simpkins is a-sellin' fer a dollar. ” 

“You had better get you a bag up there 
then.” 

“Wall, I would, but he's all out,” said Un¬ 
cle Joel. 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


53 


At one counter stood Mrs. Cornelius Wat¬ 
kins, a stout, black-eyed, elderly woman, 
pulling over a pile of print remnants. “What 
be you askin’ a yard fer these ?” she inquired. 

“Five cents,” said the clerk. 

“S’pose there ain’t ’nough in a piece fer 
anythin’ more than an apern, is there?” 

“Oh, some of them have got ten yards in 
them, and there are quite a number alike,” 
was the reply. 

“Wall, that striped one jest takes my eye, 
an’ ’twould be dretful becomin’ to me, bein’s 
I’m so hefty in my build. ’Twould make me 
look slimmer. I uster git a gownd out of nine 
yards, but they hev sich awful big sleeves 
now ’twould take more. Now that piece is 
as han’some as delaine an’ when it’s made up 
it will look good ’nough to waar to five 
o’clock meetin.’ Do you s’pose ’twill fade 
when it’s washed?” 

“It looks like fast colors, if I am any judge.” 

“Now, you may lay it back for me, but 
you cut me off a leetle scrid to take home 
and wash; then if the colors don’t run, I’ll 


54 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


hev Cornelius come over and git it ternight. 
He’ll fetch in some aigs to pay fer what it 
comes to.” 

Amos, having made his purchases and re¬ 
ceived from the post-office in one corner of 
the store a bunch of papers and a few letters 
to be delivered along the road home, was 
waiting for Hiram to take up his butter and 
bacon in garden seeds, a hoe, brown sugar, 
saleratus and cream tartar, black tea, coarse 
salt, molasses and kerosene. 

On the opposite side of the store was an 
attractive display of inexpensive glass ware 
which a tall, thin, grey-haired woman was 
examining. On coming nearer, Amos dis¬ 
covered that it was Aunt Becky Whitehouse, 
who lived a mile or more up beyond his place. 

“How d’ye do,” he exclaimed. “I can’t tell 
the time when I’ve set eyes on you before. ” 

“I hain’t be’n out much lately. I’ve be’n 
kind o’ slim ever sense the snow went off. 
S’pose you’ve heerd the news ’bout Flory 
May Plummer? She’s a-goin’ ter be married 
tomorrer. 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


55 


“How you talk! I didn't know that any 
body was a-keepin' company with her." 

“It's Si Lamprey, him that lost his woman 
with the grip last winter. There's three 
children and the oldest ain't but four year 
old. I'm afraid Flory's got a hard row before 
her, but it looks as if she didn't want ter die 
an old maid. Si's clever's the day is long an' 
I never heerd o' his drinkin' but he’s most 
too shif'less ter live. I thought I'd like ter 
give her some little thing an’ I guess I’ll buy 
one o' these ten cent salt shakers. Which 
do you think is the harnsomest, the blue or 
the yarler, the pink or the green ones ?” 

Just then Hiram came along and announc¬ 
ed that he was ready to start. At the door 
stood little Mrs. Tappan looking for Laomi, 
who had gone up to the harness shop, prom¬ 
ising to come right back. “Here I've been 
waiting for that husband of mine for fifteen 
minutes!" she impatiently exclaimed. 

“Oh, that's nothin', ” said Aunt Sophrony 
Campbell, who was standing by. “I've been 
waiting for a husband more than fifty years 


56 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


and he hasn’t come in sight yet. ” 

“Really now, Aunt Sophrony,” put in Hi¬ 
ram, “I’ve often wondered why you never got 
married, you’re so up an’ a-comin’ like. ” 
“Well, I’ve always made a comfortable 
living for myself, but I’ve never got to a place 
where I felt that I could support a man be¬ 
sides . ” 

At last with a well loaded wagon Hiram 
and Amos started homeward. Now and then 
they stopped at a neighbor’s house to hand 
out the mail and Daniel Scruton, seeing them 
coming and remembering that it was time 
for his Mirror and Farmer, ran up to the 
fence to get it and hear what news they had 
brought. Soon Mrs. Scruton came out to 
speak to them too, and was “terrible struck 
up” to hear about Flory May Plummer. 
“Why,” said she, “the girl must be loony to 
think o’ goin’ there. She’d oughter hev a 
guardeen.” 

“Mebby she feels that she’s got a call to do 
mission’ry work,” observed Hiram. “Got 
your pertaters planted, Dan’el?” 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


57 


“I was cal’Iatin’ to put in this patch here 
by the house termorrer if it's a fair day,” 
then seeing that Hiram was pulling up the 
reins to go on, he said, “Don't forgit to let 
folks know that Elder Hook is a-goin’ to hold 
forth up to the Perkins meetin’-house next 
Sunday afternoon, at half after two o'clock. 

II 

“Guess I’ll tackle the settin’-room today,” 
said Mrs. Scruton the next morning at the 
breakfast table, as she carefully scraped out 
with her spoon the sugar that had settled in 
the bottom of her coffee cup. “Yes,” contin¬ 
ued she, piling up the dishes around her place 
preparatory to clearing the table, “I’ll clean 
the settin’ room today, an’ next week I’ll 
take the kitchen. The mud will be all dried 
up by that time, so ’twill do to paint the floor 
an’ not hev a J^t o’ dirt tracked in jest as 
soon as it’s dry nough to step on. ” 

Daniel was doing ample justice to the hot 
flapjacks and maple syrup, and made no re¬ 
ply, as he did not often interfere with Elvi- 


58 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


ry’s house-cleaning. Outside the robins were 
singing, the grass was green, deep-purple 
buds in pointed clusters covered the tops of 
the lilac bushes, and the great maple that 
stood at the corner of the house was full of 
little crumpled new leaves. 

In the course of an hour, heavy braided 
mats and hooked-in rugs on which blotches 
of red and patches of green taxed the imagi¬ 
nation of the beholder to transform into the 
likeness of roses and leaves, were hanging on 
the pickets of the fence, and the rag carpet 
was stretched out on a clothes line between 
the trees, ready for Daniel to give it a good 
beating. Inside, broom, duster and soap-suds 
were doing a thorough work. 

At the corner cupboard Elviry paused, con¬ 
templating three small glass bottles, partly 
filled with a dark liquid, and standing in a 
row on the top shelf. Finally she took down 
the bottles, and placed them on the table, 
then going to the window called out, ‘“Come 
here a minute, father.” 

“I was jest a-goin’ ter beat the carpet. 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


59 


What yer want now? Be spry, ’cause I’ve 
got ter get the rest o’ them taters up out o’ 
the suller ter keep Joe busy a-sproutin’ on 
’em whilst I git the carpet done,” said Daniel, 
coming in and wiping his face with his large 
red cotton handkerchief. “It’s hot out in the 
sun.” 

“I wanted ter know,” explained Elviry, 
“what I’d best do with this ’ere medicine. 
It’s some that the doctor left for Joe when 
he had that spell o’ sickness last winter. He 
didn’t take it all up, so I set it up here in the 
cupboard ’ginst he might need some on’t, but 
land sakes! he’s tough’s a pitch knot now, 
an’ eats like a pig. I never see him so rugged 
as he’s be’n this spring. Might’s well throw 
the stuff out, hedn’t I ?” 

“Wall, I dunno,” replied Daniel. “I’ve be’n 
feelin’ kind o’ slim ’long back; mebby a leetle 
tonic, as Doctor Tasker tells about, would 
sort o’ build me up, an’ this ’ere’s good medi¬ 
cine, most new. It does seem a waste ter 
heave it away, when it’s all bought an’ paid 
for. I’ll jest turn it all inter one bottle, an’ 


60 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


I don't see why 'tain't all right an' as good 
stuff ter take's enny, leastways 'twont cost 
nothin' ter try it." 

So Daniel mixed his medicines and stood 
the bottle on the shelf in the kitchen, and 
cautioned Elviry “ter help him ter bear it in 
mind." 

When dinner was ready Daniel, after wash¬ 
ing in the tin basin at the sink, and wiping 
his face on the roller towel, went to the little 
looking-glass to comb out his few scattering 
grey locks. There on the shelf below the 
glass stood the bottle, where he couldn't help 
seeing it, and giving the contents a thorough 
shaking, he remarked, “Some medicines is to 
be took afore meals, an' some arter. I b'lieve 
nr try this afore," so he took a large table¬ 
spoonful of the mixture, and then sat down 
to eat a hearty dinner of ham and eggs. 

Either the medicines did not combine well, 
or the prescriptions, prepared for the son, 
did not suit the case of the father, for he had 
not been working long with Joe, planting the 
potatoes, when he came hurrying into the 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


61 


house, exclaiming, “Oh, Elviry, help me onter 
the bed quick, an' gim me the camphire bot¬ 
tle, then holler ter Joe ter hitch up Major, an* 
drive down arter Dr. Tasker as spry’s ever 
he can, fer I’m dretful bad orf. ” 

When the doctor arrived and heard the 
particulars of the case, he shook his head 
and said it was a very serious matter. Prompt 
measures were taken, but Daniel was a very 
sick man for a few days and the doctor was 
obliged to visit his patient morning and even¬ 
ing. After a while the neighbors noticed 
him driving past in his gig up toward the 
Scruton’s only once a day, and later on every 
other day until, at length, his visits ceased 
altogether. 

Slowly Daniel v/as recovering, and he now 
sat in his great arm chair by the window 
from which he could see the waving grass 
and the apple-trees full of thick foliage. 
Near the house the rose bushes were burst¬ 
ing into bloom and all over the old maple 
large dark green leaves were fluttering in the 
breeze. Daniel Scruton was not contemplat- 


62 


DANIEL SCRUTON’S ECONOMY 


ing the beauties of nature outside, however, 
he was gazing at the doctor’s bill, which Joe 
had just handed to him in his mail, left by a 
kindly neighbor. 

“Twenty dollars, Elviry!” he exclaimed. 
“Only you think on’t, an’ losin’ more’n a 
month’s work besides. That ’ere was a pur- 
ty ’spensive dose I took, wa’n’t it ?” 


THE HEN PARTY 


One warm afternoon in early spring Tildy 
Matthews hurried up Dearborn Hill. In her 
hand she carried a few half-open Mayflowers 
which she had found in a sunny spot at the 
edge of the woods. She was bound for the 
little, one-story, red house where lived Aunt 
Prudence and Uncle Tobias Dearborn, a bro¬ 
ther and sister who had been born there, as 
were their father and grandfather before 
them. 

Prudence was sitting in a large rocking- 
chair in her scrupulously clean kitchen cut¬ 
ting carpet rags when Tildy, very red in the 
face and almost out of breath, walked in and 
announced, “I know who's a-comin'. I've be'n 
up to Judge Hardy's an' seen the Manchester 
paper. The 'p'intmunts is printed in it an' I 
read ‘Brownville Center, Charles R. Staples.' 
Don't know one thing 'bout 'im for the judge 
hain't got home from Conf'runce yet, but 


64 


THE HEN PARTY 


you c'n depend on't he's picked out one that's 
all right. He wrote to his wife't he’d had a 
talk with the Presidin' Elder an' the Bishop. 
We sh’ll miss the Bankses. They did a heap 
o’ work the three years they was here. Their 
goods is all packed up an' ready to be sent 
soon's they know where to. Elder Banks 
told me't he didn’t hold to the old minister 
a-hangin' 'round arter he'd said his good bys 
once, and a-botherin' of the new minister's 
folks. 

“Do stop an' have a dish o' tea 'long o' me," 
urged Prudence, as Tildy arose to depart. 
“Tobias has gone to the Falls with the butter 
an' aigs; then he'll have to wait to get the 
grist ground, so he won't be back 'fore dark. 
Prince an' me's all alone here." At the men¬ 
tion of his name the old dog stretched him¬ 
self and came forward, wagging his tail, to 
pay his respects to the visitor. 

Over their tea cups the two women specu¬ 
lated about the new minister's family. They 
hoped she would be willing to take a class in 
the Sunday School and be president of the 


THE HEN PARTY 


65 


Sewing Society, and they “s’posed Eph Wil¬ 
loughby’s folks would be dretful glad if there 
wa’n’t no small children to pester ’em, seein’ 
they lived so nigh. ” 

In a feyr days the new pastor and his wife 
were settled in the parsonage. He preached 
his first sermon the next Sunday and all 
agreed that it was a beautiful discourse, and 
she, black-eyed and rosy-cheeked, greeting 
every one with a pleasant smile, was pro¬ 
nounced “handsome as a picture.” 

The village school had been kept by Miss 
Amelia Bradford for the past two years, but 
she had a chance to go to Smith’s Corner, 
where she could get more pay, and the minis¬ 
ter’s wife was very glad to fill the vacancy. 
They had not been married long, and, al¬ 
though having waited until he was entirely 
out of debt, they had so little to start with 
that the school money would be quite a help. 
Mr. Staples was handy about the house, for 
he had been obliged to board himself while 
he was getting his education, so he started 
the dinner each day before his wife returned 


66 


THE HEN PARTY 


from school and washed the dishes after she 
had gone back to her work. On Saturdays 
she baked cakes and pies, and the kindly 
neighbors sent in many things to help them 
along; besides some of the good people usual¬ 
ly invited them to their home for Sunday. 

The former pastor had made quite a suc¬ 
cess of keeping hens, and that had enabled 
him to contribute more generously to the 
benevolences of the church than he otherwise 
could have done. Philander Atwater, one of 
the stewards, had a lonesome feeling every 
time he went past the old barn where Elder 
Banks used to keep his hens, so one day he 
interviewed the minister on the subject and 
learned that he would be very glad to keep a 
few hens, only he hadn’t saved up money 
enough to buy them yet. “I don’t intend to 
run in debt for anything,” said he. “Our 
motto is, ‘Pay as you go, and if you can’t pay, 
don’t go.” Philander told the official board 
about it and they talked the matter over; 
then the men told their wives, and they talk¬ 
ed it over, so together they planned a sur- 


THE HEN PARTY 


67 


prise party to which all should contribute 
what they pleased, only a hen apiece should 
be the price of admittance to this festive oc¬ 
casion . 

It was a beautiful moonlight evening in 
early June. The new preacher and his wife 
had been sitting on the porch until driven in 
by the too persistent attention of the mos¬ 
quitoes. Lighting the lamp, they sat down 
by the table, he to read his Zion's Herald 
and she to look over her lessons and plan 
work for the next day with her little boys and 
girls of District No. 5. 

Suddenly they were startled by a loud 
knock at the door. The minister answered it, 
and in the pale light saw that the space be¬ 
tween the steps and the road was crowded 
with men and women whose arms were full of 
bundles and boxes. Their merry laughter 
and three rousing cheers for “Brother and 
Sister Staples” brought the lady of the house 
to the door, too, lamp in hand. Slowly the 
guests filed into the little sitting room, which 
was also the study, and deposited their pack- 


68 


THE HEN PARTY 


ages upon the tables, on the chairs, and on 
the floor. The boxes, however, each one held 
carefully in the right hand, and a peculiar, 
smothered noise in low, gutteral “cut-cut- 
cuts” filled the room. 

Philander Atwater was the first to speak. 
“Some of our hens,” said he, “wanted to give 
you a surprise party and come and live in 
your barn, so we've fetched 'em along. My 
old yarler hen was determined to set, but we 
had all the chickens we could take care of, 
so I shoved her into a box, nest and all, and 
here she is.” Just then Mrs. Atwater lifted 
the cover of her box and a smart little pullet 
stuck up her head. Aunt Prudence Dearborn 
brought a beautiful, great white hen and Un¬ 
cle Tobias his favorite white rooster with 
long tail feathers and a fine tall comb. Tildy 
Matthews donated her pet silver gray, “So 
tame you can pick her up anywhere,” she 
said. The Bradfords came with a pair of pert 
little bantams. They were Amelia's and she 
had written that she wanted them given to 
Mrs. Staples. The Willoughbys presented 


THE HEN PARTY 


69 


two, nice large Plymouth Rocks, and other 
friends contributed hens of various colors 
and varieties. Judge Hardy and his wife car¬ 
ried a handsome black hen and Mrs. Hardy 
had, besides, a basket of china nest eggs into 
the midst of which the Judge had tucked an 
envelope marked, “Wherewithal to buy grain 
for the hen colony until it shall become self- 
supporting .” This contained five dollars. 

The minister lighted his lantern and the 
party proceeded to the barn to deposit the 
hens. The pastor and his wife had been 
brought up in the country so they knew how 
to take care of their new flock, but Mrs. Har¬ 
dy had written a humorous poem giving mi¬ 
nute directions as to how the hens should be 
fed and the attention which they should re¬ 
ceive . After this was read the cake and lem¬ 
onade which the ladies had furnished were 
passed around and a social time enjoyed. 

Before saying good-night, they all joined in 
singing “Praise God, from whom all blessings 
flow,” and the minister asked a special bles¬ 
sing on his new and generous friends of 


70 


THE HEN PARTY 


Brownville Center. 

When the party broke up and the men and 
women wended their way to their various 
homes, leaving the occupants of the old par¬ 
sonage to count up their blessings, it was dif¬ 
ficult to say who were the happier ones, the 
pastor and his wife or the kind-hearted 
parishioners. 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


At the Woodman place, one of the finest in 
the neighborhood, lived pretty Betty Brad¬ 
shaw . Her mother had died when she was a 
very little girl, so she had come to stay with 
Aunt Woodman, her mother’s sister, for a 
spell, while the Widow Twitchell kept house 
for the father and the older children. 

Two years later, when Betty’s father mar¬ 
ried again, the aunt, who had no children of 
her own, desired to keep the child. The fath¬ 
er gave his consent and Betty remained with 
Aunt Woodman, who was like a mother to 
her. All that she could remember of her own 
mother was of being lifted up to look upon 
her in the long, black coffin and of being told 
that she was going away forever and of cry¬ 
ing to go with her. 

The Woodmans lived in a two-story red 
house, the stately fore-door of which was 
painted green. Above the door and half way 


72 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


down on each side of it there was a row of 
small panes of glass. 

On low bushes, deep-red roses bloomed on 
both sides of the door-rock in early summer, 
and later tall lilies rolled back their freckled 
orange-red petals and reached out their long, 
slender stamens with trembling purple tips. 
Bouncing Betsies in clusters of delicate, pink- 
tinted flowers grew in great profusion on the 
grassy bank sloping down to the road, while 
at either end of the house a tall maple stood 
guard and summer breezes made soft music 
in the thick foliage. 

The flower bed was on the sunny eastern 
side and here pinks, ladies' delights, bach¬ 
elor's buttons, marigolds, hollyhocks and Chi¬ 
na asters grew with a bunch of southern¬ 
wood, and just beyond were cinnamon rose 
bushes and a clump of lilacs. 

Near the back door w T as the well. The 
wooden bucket, hanging from a pole, was let 
down into the water and brought up by 
means of the long, heavy well sweep. Behind 
the back door hung the old dinner horn, on 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


73 


which Loizy Follett, the hired girl, tooted, 
when the midday meal was ready, to call in 
the men-f oiks. 

To this beautiful big house came little Bet¬ 
ty and how she loved it. Watching the flames 
leap up the chimney in the great fireplace 
was a constant delight to her and she liked 
to see Loizy with the long-handled shovel 
drag out the brown bread, beans and pump¬ 
kin pies from the brick oven. She also liked 
to look at the dresser on whose shelves stood 
the shining pewter plates, the old blue china, 
the quaint teapots and tea caddies. Near by 
was the little stand where lay the family Bi¬ 
ble from which Uncle Woodman read every 
morning. Betty often would touch it rever¬ 
ently as she went by it. Then she loved to 
climb into the great chair which the red table 
made when its round top was turned back 
against the wall. A most wonderful thing 
was the tall, old clock, and how proud she 
was when she had learned “to tell the time o' 
day.” 

Loizy would sometimes turn the little brass 


74 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


buttons on the cupboard doors and let Betty 
gaze at the pretty dishes inside. There was 
the mulberry set in the kitchen, the pink 
dishes in the east room and the beautiful lus¬ 
tre ware in the fore-room cupboard. 

How the great polished balls on the and¬ 
irons shone in the east room and, on the man¬ 
tle above, the tall candlesticks, the snuffers 
and the tray, all in brass. The large desk in 
this room always interested Betty. Its slant 
top let down, forming a writing table, thus 
disclosing numerous little drawers and pig¬ 
eon holes. Here the Squire kept his valua¬ 
ble papers and did much important writing 
for the town and for neighbors who needed 
his services as Justice of the Peace. He had 
even married several couples in this room. 
A picture of George Washington hung on the 
wall and Betty never tired of hearing stories 
about our first President. In another frame 
there was a sampler, worked by Aunt Wood¬ 
man when she was a little girl, and it was 
Betty’s ambition to make a sampler, too. 

Among the attractions in the fore-room 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


75 


were the gilt-framed looking glass and the 
mahogany table with claw feet. A copy of 
Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress and also of Bax¬ 
ter's Saints' Rest were placed on this table 
and a dainty card basket, formed of fine wire, 
over which was woven shaded red and orange 
crewel. A tall cornucopia, filled with various 
kinds of fruit, all in plaster of Paris, occupied 
the center of the mantel. On each side was a 
large china vase with bright flowers painted 
on the front and a deep gilt border reaching 
down in lines from the fan-shaped top. At 
each end of the mantlepiece stood a pale-yel¬ 
low glass candlestick. What interested peo¬ 
ple most in this room, however, was the land¬ 
scape paper brought over from England and 
representing scenes on the Nile. 

At an early age Betty trudged off, with the 
neighbor's children, to the little one-story un¬ 
painted school house. There was a short term 
in the summer with a young woman for 
teacher and a long term in the winter, for 
then the big boys went. The master was us¬ 
ually some young man who was staying out 


76 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


of college and teaching to earn money in or¬ 
der to go on with his education. He boarded 
around in the different homes, a week at a 
place. 

The winter that Elon Mayhew taught, a 
new study, called grammar, was introduced 
in the school. Heretofore the “deestrict fa¬ 
thers” had decided that the “three Rs, read- 
in', ritin' and rithm'tic was book l'arnin' 
'nough.” When the committee met this sea¬ 
son each member took occasion to express 
his opinion again. 

“The way I look at it,” said Peleg Hunkins, 
“is that this 'ere grammar is a waste o' time. 
They'd better be a-studyin' of their spellin' 
books.” 

“I see by The News-Letter that they're 
a-teachin' grammar in all the neighborin' 
towns,” remarked Squire Woodman, “an' we 
don't want to be left behind.” 

“What's the use on't, any how?” argued 
Nathaniel Whitcomb. “They may hev their 
book afore 'em an’ they can't make a sled 
by it.” 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


77 


Then young Mayhew, who had been invit¬ 
ed to be present, made such a powerful ap¬ 
peal for raising the standard of the school 
that, at last, it was decided “to leave it all 
to the discreeshun o’ the marster. ” 

That winter was long to be remembered, 
besides, for the good times the boys and 
girls had at the spelling schools. To make 
the room bright and cheery each one carried 
a candle. These were lighted and set in pools 
of melted tallow on the desks. Betty and 
Seth Woodman were the best spellers and, 
when they were not the leaders, were always 
chosen first and were kept walking from side 
to side when a word, misspelled on one side, 
was spelled correctly on the other, giving 
the leader a chance to choose. When it came 
to spelling down, Betty and Seth were the 
last to remain standing and the teacher could 
seldom find a word in the book with which 
Seth was not familiar. 

Seth always walked home with Betty, as 
he lived up that way, a little father on. He 
was Squire Woodman’s nephew and she was 


78 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


Mrs. Woodman's niece, so they were not rel¬ 
atives, though Betty thought of Seth as sort 
of a cousin, and really liked hirn very much, 
but for Seth, who was a quiet, studious boy, 
there was no other girl in the world but Bet¬ 
ty. Her ideal, however, was her brother 
John. He was her oldest brother and had 
been to sea several times. On his return 
from his voyages he always brought trinkets 
and toys for his little sister and she never 
tired of listening to the tales of his wonder¬ 
ful adventures. When she was older he gave 
her books, gold beads and pretty combs for 
her hair. One of the books was “The Prin¬ 
ciples of Politeness," and so carefully did she 
read and study it that she became noted in 
the community for her refined and gracious 
manners. The last time when John went 
away he said, “When I come back I'm going 
to open a store in the city and then I'll make 
a fine lady of you, my Betty." How she 
longed for the time to come when he would 
return, for she loved Brother John better 
than anyone else. 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


79 


One morning, when John had been away 
for a longer time than usual, Betty's father 
came over to the Woodman's very much agi¬ 
tated . “I had a frightful dream last night," 
he said. “I saw two ships out on the ocean. 
John was on one and the other w T as a pirate 
vessel and the pirates captured John's ship 
and I woke up with the sound of the firing of 
guns ringing in my ears." 

“Oh, Lemuel!" exclaimed Aunt Woodman, 
“don't be so superstitious. You know that 
shower in the night was an awful heavy one. 
There was a clap of thunder that fairly rock¬ 
ed the house and I thought the lightning 
had struck us this time, sure. Most likely 
that was what you heard." 

As time went on and no tidings came from 
John the father always believed that his son 
was shot by the pirates on the night of that 
terrible dream. Betty was more hopeful and 
tried to think that perhaps he was only cap¬ 
tured and might escape and return sometime, 
so for many years she kept on looking for 
him. 


80 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


The church which Betty attended was an 
Orthodox one, built before the Revolutionary 
War. When she was a little girl, dressed in a 
dainty white frock and wearing a white bon¬ 
net with blue ribbon bows on it, she rode in 
the chaise, sitting on a small stool between 
Uncle and Aunt Woodman, and when winter 
came, clad in her red cloak and hood, snugly 
tucked under the buffalo robe, with them she 
went in the high-backed, yellow sleigh. When 
she was old enough she used to walk to the 
service, in the summer time, with the other 
young girls. Along the dusty highway they 
wore their heavy shoes until they were quite 
near the meeting house; then they took them 
off and, hiding them in the wall, went in 
wearing their pretty morocco slippers. 

The Woodman pew was one of the square 
box ones in the center of the house. It had 
a railing along the top and seats around the 
inside. When they entered and shut the door 
it seemed like being in a little room by them¬ 
selves . 

Facing the center aisle was the tall pulpit, 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


81 


reached by a narrow stairway, and suspend¬ 
ed above it was a massive sounding board. 
Below the pulpit, in a small enclosure, the 
deacons sat on a raised platform and in front 
of them was the communion table which had 
a rounded leaf that turned down when not 
in use. 

Seth Woodman sat in his father's pew 
where he could look across and watch the 
pretty girl. Both families hoped that Seth 
would marry Betty some day, and Seth, who 
was the older by a year, dreamed of the time 
when Betty should be his bride, but she 
thought only of Brother John's return. 

The last winter Betty attended school the 
master was a fine musician and taught a 
singing school one evening each week. Betty, 
who had a sweet voice, wanted to go and 
Enoch Underhill, the boy who lived with the 
Woodmans and worked for his board and 
clothes, could also sing quite well, so the two 
went together and they were supposed to 
come home together. Seth, not being a sing¬ 
er, did not care to join the class. 


82 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


About this time a young fellow by the 
name of Woodbury Judson came to town. 
He was a cabinet maker by trade and work¬ 
ed in Deacon Hildreth's shop. As he was an 
unusually good singer he was interested in 
the singing school and came regularly and 
the master always asked him to take the 
most difficult parts. He was a stranger in 
the place but every one seemed to esteem him 
highly. Betty was very courteous to him 
and he thought she was the prettiest girl he 
had ever seen. 

One evening after the singing was over 
and the young people were separating and 
going their several ways, Woodbury muster¬ 
ed courage and somewhat timidly asked, 
“May I have the pleasure of accompanying 
you home, Miss Bradshaw?" “Certainly," 
was Betty's smiling reply, for she knew that 
Enoch wanted to go with Beulah Hapgood, 
who was a very nice girl. Aunt Woodman 
did not want Enoch to keep company with 
her though, because her father was such a 
“shif'less" man, and Betty well knew she 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


83 


would not approve of Woodbury's attention 
to her niece, for he was a new comer and no¬ 
body knew what he had sprung from, so 
Enoch and Betty kept each other’s secret. 

Sometimes, when Woodbury came home 
with Betty, they stood talking outside in the 
snow so long that her feet were very cold, 
but when she went in she did not dare to 
stay around down stairs to get warm, so she 
stole softly up to her room and went to bed, 
putting her feet into a big, old muff that had 
been her mother’s. 

One night as Woodbury walked along with 
Betty he carried a large package under his 
arm, and when he bade her “Good-bye” at 
the door he said, “Here is a little trunk that 
I’ve made for you to lock up your love letters 
in. This is St. Valentine’s day, you know, 
so inside you will find a valentine with my 
sentiments for you. ” 

“0! Thank you,” said Betty. “I hadn’t 
thought of it. ” 

When he had gone she tip-toed quietly up 
stairs and lighted a candle to take a look at 


84 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


her valentine. She had never received one 
before. It was a dainty little thing made of 
white perforated paper and had a heart on 
it formed of roses and forget-me-nots with 
the following lines in tiny gilt letters: 

“A true heart ever beats for thee. 

No other one its love shall be. ” 

After reading it over several times she put 
it back into the box which she hid under the 
bed and dreamed all night about her valen¬ 
tine. 

The next day when she found an oppor¬ 
tunity she slipped away to take a peep at her 
treasures. The little trunk was a piece of 
very fine workmanship. It was about a foot 
and a half long, painted cream color and 
beautifully decorated on the top and front 
with circles and fern-like designs in red, 
green and gilt with little red and green dots 
arranged in diamonds for a border along the 
edges. Betty was so absorbed in reading 
the words on the valentine over and over 
that she did not notice that her aunt had 
come into the room and was looking over her 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


85 


shoulder. 

“Betsey Bradshaw!” she exclaimed, “What 
does all this nonsense mean?” Then she 
snatched the valentine from her hand, hur¬ 
ried down stairs, Betty slowly following, and 
threw it into the kitchen fireplace. She made 
Betty tell her the whole story, but would not 
hear a word to her “keeping company with a 
transient fellow,” as she called Woodbury 
Judson. “Don't you know,” said she, “that 
Seth Woodman sets his life by you?” 

When Betty told Woodbury the fate of the 
valentine and that her aunt had forbidden 
her receiving any further attention from him 
he felt so badly that he went away, but he 
said, “Keep the little trunk, Betty, and re¬ 
member me always.” 

Seth Woodman, a quiet young man, was in¬ 
dustrious and straightforward in all his 
ways. Some of the other children, who liked 
to dress up and go to parties and dances, 
seemed to get more than their share out of 
the father, but Seth's faithfulness was re¬ 
warded, for when he was one and twenty 


86 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


his father gave him a nice farm with a fine 
set of buildings on it. 

Then he asked Betty to be his wife, and 
she consented, perhaps not because she loved 
him so much, but because she felt he loved 
her so much, and she knew it was Aunt 
Woodman's wish. She showed him the little 
trunk and told him the story of her valentine 
and that she did not know what had become 
of Woodbury Judson. 

Seth was always proud of his wife's good 
looks and was highly appreciative of her 
amiable disposition. She rejoiced in her hus¬ 
band's integrity and in the knowledge that 
he was so trusted that people said, “His word 
is as good as his note. ” 

Several children were born into this peace¬ 
ful and happy family and one of the boys 
was named John for the brother whose re¬ 
turn Betty still expected. Each year they 
endeavored to make the journey to the old 
home town and right royally were they wel¬ 
comed by their relatives and friends. 

When Uncle Woodman, who was a few 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


87 


years older than his wife, died, Aunt Wood¬ 
man wanted Betty to come and live with her. 
The youngest child had recently married and 
the other children had homes of their own 
now so the father and mother were quite 
willing to sell the farm and go back to the 
beautiful old house. The little trunk, gift of 
Woodbury Judson, in which Betty kept her 
most valuable papers and treasures, was tak¬ 
en back with them as they returned. 

In all the years Aunt Woodman had never 
mentioned the valentine to her niece but one 
day she was taken suddenly ill and as she 
grew steadily worse she called Betty to her 
and said, ‘Tve something on my mind I want 
to tell you. I hope you have forgiven me for 
taking your valentine. I did it because I 
loved you and I knew Seth would make you 
a good husband. I did not burn the valen¬ 
tine, only the envelope, which I picked up as 
I left your room. I threw that into the fire 
and saved the valentine, for I wanted to read 
it more carefully and I never could quite 
make up my mind to destroy it. I may not 


88 


BETTY’S VALENTINE 


be here much longer, Betty. In the old desk 
there is a note addressed to you. After I am 
gone you read it and there you will be told 
where a secret drawer is in which you will 
find my will and your valentine. 

When Aunt Woodman had passed away 
and the funeral was over, Betty and Seth 
went to the old desk to look for the note and 
the secret drawer. There they found the 
valentine and the will, leaving all of Aunt 
Woodman’s possessions to Betty. She did 
not give up the hope of Brother John’s return 
until she was a very old lady. They never 
heard what became of Woodbury Judson. 
The valentine was carefully kept in the little 
trunk in which it had originally come to the 
old house. 

The children of Seth and Betty frequently 
visited their parents bringing with them 
their own children, who were always eager 
for a look at Grandma’s little trunk and to 
hear again the story of her valentine. 


i 


































